Real or Not Real
by bemusedbicycle
Summary: Hook helps Emma remember which of her memories are real and which are not. Prompted on tumblr from the famous Hunger Games scene.


**You always write really amazing CS + THG fics. I was wondering if you could write one about Emma and Killian playing 'Real or Not Real' when she gets her memories back?**

He opens the door with a scowl, leaning heavily against the frame. He looks ready for a fight but the anger dissipates from his blue orbs almost immediately when he sees it's her, half-hearted smirk twisting his lips up slightly.

"Quite the late hour to come calling, Swan." But his voice is tired and any heat that usually laces his sentences is abandoned in the name of sheer exhaustion. She stares at him hard, takes in the bags under his eyes, the slope of his shoulders.

She gives him a shrug and holds up the bottle in her hand in explanation, heart beating an unsteady staccato against her chest. She shouldn't be here – shouldn't be trying to figure this out with _him_. But ever since he woke her up, with honest eyes and desperate words, strong arms wrapping around her tight, nose buried in her curls breathing her in – something was different. Something had shifted.

His fingers drum against the wood in a moment's contemplation and then he steps back, gesturing her in to his room with a gallant sweep of his arm and small bow. She snorts and moves past him, sitting heavily in one of the chairs at the small table that sits in the center of his quarters. He hands her an empty glass and sits across from her, staring at her with guarded eyes.

She pours herself a liberal shot and throws it back quickly. He arches an eyebrow and grins, pushing his own glass forward with a roll of his eyes.

"Come barging in, rousing me from sleep, and you won't even share?"

She lets her gaze pointedly linger on the dark bruises under his eyes as she pours him a glass. She refills her own. "You weren't sleeping."

He frowns and stares hard at the amber liquid, sarcastic smile replacing his wide grin. "Aye, too right lass." He throws back his drink and grimaces, giving her an affronted look. She laughs despite herself at the way his eyebrows pull together.

"What the bloody hell is this?"

She spins the bottle so he can read the label, blue eyes slanted in concentration. He sits back with a huff, reaching over his shoulder and pulling an unmarked bottle seemingly out of nowhere. He untwists the cap with his teeth (and her eyes absolutely do _not_ linger on the way his tongue caresses the lip, teeth flashing white as the cap comes off with a pop) and refills his own glass.

"This Jack Daniels should be red-faced with chagrin at having his name associated with such a vile drink." He moves to refill her own but she holds up a hand.

"I think I'll stick with Jack, thank you."

He gives her another look that clearly says _your funeral_ before he leans back heavily, peering over at her with a calculating gaze. Her face feels hot as he scrutinizes her, skin flushing at the sudden realization that she's alone with him.

In his cabin.

At a very late hour.

With copious amounts of liquor.

She sighs. "I need your help."

He sits up abruptly, almost knocking his glass over in his haste. "What is it? Is it your boy? Is it –"

She flinches and shakes her head, but he doesn't relax – blue eyes wide and scanning over her, clearly looking for some sort of injury. She wants to snort because it's not like she would drag her body down here with a bottle of liquor for some chit-chat if she were mortally wounded. But she also wants to cry because he _cares_ – cares so much she can feel it – thundering between them in electric waves.

"No, I just – " She takes a gulp of liquid, hand shaking. "Ever since my memories came back, it's just been so much." Her eyes flicker up to him and then back down. "I'm having trouble figuring out what's real and what's not."

She hears him shift in his chair. "And you came to me for this?"

"My parents, they are a little – uh – _overwhelming_ in their desire to help me remember. It's too much." He chuckles like he knows exactly what she's talking about and after a year in the Enchanted Forest with her parents, maybe he does. This strikes her as odd, but in a way that makes her chest warm and glow. "And I can't exactly ask Henry. I don't _want_ to ask Regina. I trust you."

She looks up at him from under her lashes and he looks thunderstruck, mouth gaping open slightly. But he adjusts quickly, leaning back into his chair and schooling his features into a neutral look. It hurts her that he's surprised by this – after everything they've been through – but she supposes she's to blame for that.

"How can I help?"

"Just tell me if my memories are real or not real." She sits up and squares her shoulders. "I know you don't know a lot about my past, but I –" He visibly stills at that, entire body tensing. She can see the guilt leaking into his gaze and she frowns.

"What?"

He scratches at the back of his head with his brace and she notices for the first time he isn't wearing his hook. In fact, she doesn't think she's seen his since they've returned. "Well lass, I learned quite a bit about your past when we were back in our land. We were all quite eager to remember you and I –" His eyes burn into hers with gentle intensity. "I did promise you I'd think of you every day."

Her stomach flips and she remember a timid smile and honest eyes, a crumbling feeling deep in her chest. It's hazy and blurred – almost wiped away in the recesses of her mind – but it's there.

"So, real then?"

He blinks in bewilderment for a moment and then a smile, soft and knowing, lifts his lips.

"Aye love, that one is real."

She picks at the grain of the table with her fingernail and pours herself another glass. She tilts her head and tries to sort some of the memories tangled up in a heap in her mind – looking for one a little less _monumental _by the feel of it.

"Regina never was Henry's school teacher, was she?"

Hook shakes his head. "Not real. Although Snow was, if what I'm led to believe is true."

She nods, the _real_ memory floating to the forefront of her mind. She concentrates, focuses on another. "David – did he save me?"

Hook looks uncomfortable, his eyes growing stormy. "Aye, that he did. You bloody stubborn woman, decided to take a dip in the middle of a storm. Real."

He says it on a growl and she remembers the burn of the sea in her lungs, the Jolly Roger creaking ominously beneath her back as she struggled for breath. She gives him a sheepish smile and he just stares at her with both eyebrows raised.

"David didn't ever coach soccer did her?" She has a memory of Henry and David, laughing and running across the lawn, sunshine streaming overhead. It feels too bright, too shiny compared to the others and she can almost pluck it out as fake on her own, but she needs the confirmation.

Hook's eyebrows drop. "I haven't the faintest clue what that means, love. Try another."

They go back and forth like that for quite some time, Hook quietly confirming or denying her memories, her mind slowly becoming less jumped with the gentle lilt of his voice. She sips on her drink carefully, him mirroring her movements, and her stomach drops as she slowly runs out of memories to test him on.

There's one specific one – the one she came here to question him about – that's burning a hole in her heart. She dreamed of it so often there's no way it can be true, the heat it ignites in her too powerful to be anything other than fantasy. Her lips twist into a frown and she clicks her tongue against her teeth, watching as his face falls.

"Go on." He mutters and he gives her an encouraging nod, but it does nothing to assuage the awkwardness of this situation.

She thinks of lush green trees, panting breaths, and grabbing hands. She thinks of _as you wish_ and soft lips and desperate sounds, lodged in the back of his throat.

"You kissed me." She whispers and his eyes soften, blue lighting like the sky just after a storm.

"Real." He whispers in return and his eyes glint in mischief. "Although, if we aim to be specific, it was you who kissed me."

He chuckles lightly into his glass but she can see the tightening in his face, the way he's holding back from her. She takes a deep breath and focuses her eyes intently on him as more memories rise up behind that.

_I've yet to see you fail. _

_Until I met you. _

_When I win it. _

She gasps and she can feel the tears prickle in her eyes, the sheer overwhelming nature of his attentions on her – his steadfast loyalty and passionate protection. It all comes rushing back and she bites her lip against the onslaught. He stares at her and his shoulders drop, head tilting slightly to the side.

"Emma-"

"You love me." She says and it floats between them like smoke on water. He doesn't even flinch – doesn't cower away at the whispered exaltation. His eyes are serious and sure and when he nods in assurance, it's just like breathing.

"Aye." And his lips tilt up like it's nothing at all. "Real."

A single tear drops down her face and then another. She heaves in a gasping breath, something heavy dissipating over her chest, the lightness making her head spin.

"And I-" Her voice is shattered and broken but her heart is steady and strong and she knows. Jesus Christ, she _knows. _"I love you?"

His voice is rough as his fingers close over hers. "Real, my love. Real."


End file.
